Bubbies & Zaida’s Blogging – Bruce

My name is Bruce Eekma and I was born in the Netherlands in 1939 and immigrated to Calgary, Canada in 1958 at the age of nineteen. I met Margaret, who had emigrated as a young girl also from the Netherlands, a few years later and we were married in 1962. A year ago we celebrated our fiftieth anniversary with our two sons, two granddaughters, two great-grandchildren, and lots of other family and friends. We still live in Calgary where I have a full time job here at the Calgary Jewish Community Center as a maintenance worker and Margaret keeps busy baby-sitting our great-grandchildren. If we had known how great these great-grandchildren are when we got married we would have had them first!

My proudest accomplishment was when I published my first book “A Daughter’s Search for her Father.” It is a true story about what happened to Margaret’s biological father. I wrote this book to help Margaret, who spent most of her life searching, understand what really happened to her father whom nobody wanted to talk about. Margaret was born in Amsterdam on the 31 of August 1943 in the middle of World War II, the result of a loving relationship between a young Dutch lady and a German man. Her father being German, the enemy of the Dutch people, was the reason nobody wanted to talk about her birth. The shame of being a German baby was why we were only given small bits of information. Her mother only gave us his name as Wilhelm Bauer and after that, she, nor any other family members, were willing to talk about this subject anymore.

Then on a trip to Amsterdam in 2008 I was able to obtain Margaret’s original birth certificate which had some dates that really interested me so started to write this book. With the help of the computer, searching the internet, I was able to trace the Wilhelm Bauer family history and discovered that Margaret’s Grandfather Gustav Bauer became the 11th Chancellor of Germany in 1919. Then in 1933, the year the Nazis came to power, he was accused and arrested by Hitler for stealing 30,000,000 RM from the German people. However, after a week in jail they had to release him from jail because there was not enough evidence to substantiate the claim. Because of these accusations the Bauer family decided to send their only son Wilhelm Bauer, now a successful German economist, to the Netherlands where he met a beautiful Dutch girl he falls in love with and has a daughter (Margaret) with. Shortly after her birth, through jealousy, it was reported to the Nazi Authorities that Margaret’s father was a Jew and for him to have had a sexual relation with someone of the Aryan race was against the Nazi’s anti-Semitic laws and punishable with death. So he was arrested and transported to Thereseinstadt concentration camp where his identity was stolen by Anton Burger, the SS Camp Commander, who after the war assumes Wilhelm Bauer’s name and lived out the rest of his life in Essen, Germany, a free man. Burger’s true identity wasn’t revealed until 1994, three years after his death, at age 80.

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Home is where the Heart is
By Bruce Eekma

I was born on the second day of May, 1939 in the province of Friesland, Netherland. Whatever happened there at the time had a great influence on building my character because these were not happy times in Holland. This was mainly due to the rumors that were being spread that Hitler was going to occupy our country. And just a year after I was born the rumors became a reality and Germany invaded Holland on the 10 of May, 1940.  At the time I was still a baby and too young to understand but later learned, from teachers at school, that this occupation was a total surprise attack because no war was declared by the Germans. The Dutch people thought they were staying neutral as in World War I, when in the middle of the night German planes with their lights on so everybody thought they were friendly, came and flew over Holland then continue their course and disappeared over the ocean towards England. After everything was quiet again these same planes would return, and because the Dutch soldiers were busy guarding the Dutch border, every city was invaded without resistance.

The things I do remember most were those incidents that happened in the winter of 1944 and spring of 1945 when I was five years old.  It was a very cold winter and everything in Holland was confiscated by the Nazi’s to feed the German people and their Armies. There was no food in the stores or coal available anywhere to heat the houses. Food was being cooked in a central kitchen and could be picked up, a coupon was needed for every family member. To heat your house most people used old furniture or whatever was laying around in parks. By this time our family had grown by two more brothers and my mother was pregnant with another one. My father took me to the central kitchen a couple times and I saw some of the food they had prepared, it looked like a thick soup, which some very hungry parents would drink immediately and only leave with half their allotted portion for the family at home. My father, with the help of some of our neighbors, had cut down some trees in the park when after that the Germans posted a notices there saying, anyone who destroys more trees here is going to be arrested which got everyone so scared that they would only burn wood they had around the house. My Dad however had a better idea and took me and my younger brother to the train station, where there were large piles of coal that were used by the trains, where he told the two of us to go and play. He wanted to know which one of us could get the most coal in our pockets and take it home. In the meantime my Dad was distracting the German guards by talking and joking to make sure we were going to be safe. We didn’t have to be told twice because it was fun, my Dad did not give us hell for getting dirty like Mam, however my brother cheated because he picked small pieces and I picked large ones so he had more, but I was the fastest home. To Dad, however, we were both winners. It made us feel good, my brother and me, to see our parents happy in a warm house and as soon we saw there was no more coal we would beg them to take us back to the station again. This coal stealing was not as dangerous as it may appear because in our Town we had more older German soldiers (Grandparents) that were used to me and my brother picking up cigarette buts discarded by them and we would then take these Home for my Dad who would cut them open take out the Tabaco and roll a new cigarette with paper from our bible.

Another time, I was at a German check stop where they would stop everyone and take away their bicycles, examine them, keep the good, and throw the bad ones in the river. At the same time, down the street there was a raid going on by the German police looking for young men, those under forty, to work in Germany. All German young people were in the army and they needed young Dutch people, many had already volunteered, to dig trenches and clear bombed out neighborhoods in German cities. These raids always created a scene because if a young person was found they were imprisoned and their families were heavily fined or could be shot. My father had been picked up many times but because of his talkative nature, always managed to come home after one or two months. I quickly ran home to inform my father what was happening. My mother told my dad that he should tell his sister about this.  My Father ran across town, making sure nobody saw him, to his sister’s house and told her what was going on and she thanked him. He was not home for more than an hour when he heard from someone that a young man had been shot by the Germans, and to set an example for anyone not to run away, they would not allow the family to pick up the dead person for twenty four hours. That evening we were told that it was our cousin who had gotten scared when he saw the Germans coming so he ran out the back door where they saw him and shot him. Later we found out that if he had stayed home he would still be alive because they had already finished the raid. My Aunt from then on blamed my father and mother for his death and never talked to them ever again.

These things shaped my life for the first six years never knowing if there was going to be enough to eat or drink. One year we had a rabbit and I was looking after him as my pet. Every day I would pick dandelions for him to eat. Then one day my Dad said that we had to slaughter it because we had nothing to eat, which I didn’t want to hear, so took the rabbit out of his cage and ran away. He found me after a couple minutes, the neighbor’s told him where I was, and promised me he would not kill my rabbit. He told me we had to let this one go so it could return to its family to be happy, to which I agreed, however the meat in our pan sure looked like my pet and I still will not eat rabbit.

Finally in May 1945 the Germans were leaving. I saw them go with my own eyes, and behind them came the Canadians soldiers with their shiny new jeeps. They would come down the street riding in big tanks and gave chocolates to us kids and nylons for the ladies. All the kids in the neighborhood would gather at noon by the entrance of the soldiers mess hall and they would give us white bread which we had never seen before. My mother would make her own black bread from grain we collected at farms, grind it in the coffee grinder then bake it in a homemade oven outside, but nothing came close to this white bread and I believed these soldiers came from the Promised Land and I promised myself that I would go to this land someday.

Because the Canadian soldiers were living in our schools, I did not start in grade one until I was already eight years old. Our family had expanded to six boys, of which I was the oldest. My parents expected that I work mornings and evenings on the farm, not to make money, but to receive free milk or butter and sometimes even some meat.

By the age of fourteen I left the family home and started to work as a laborer on a farm. My grandfather had got me the job and at the time it was normal to sign a contract for one year from the first of May until the next May. As a signed bonus I got my first bicycle and my poor grandfather got into a lot of trouble with other family members, because he had forty-five Grandchildren, where I was the only one he got a job. I had to live on the farm and was expected to work from four in the morning till about seven at night seven days a week, with every third weekend off. I would get paid twelve guilders a week of which ten went to my Mother. My bedroom was in the cow barn, and I was only allowed to eat in the kitchen with the maid. I was never invited into the rest of the farm because I was a worker, not family. By living in the barn I smelled like cow manure, I did not know this at the time, but that was the main reason why girls did not want to dance with me at parties. I did enjoy going home every third weekend because that was the home where I belonged.

It was a good time when I was home because I remember my father would take me and his brothers (he had eight Brothers and two Sisters) to local soccer games. Also I remember one time a cousin was getting married in a village nearby and my father phoned (a luxury item at the time but my father worked for the city and it was needed for after hour’s emergencies) to say he was coming down so we could go to the wedding together.

I left Holland for a job in Luxemburg for one year when I was seventeen and there I lived in the same house as the head laborer. He and his wife, along with their children, treated me as family. Together we milked seventy-five cows three times a day. We had a new invention, a milking machine, which helped tremendously. It was a good time because milking cows was much faster now and the rest of the time I could explore the country side. We were close to a town called Esternacht, a very hilly district, unlike Holland which is flat, therefor it is known as little Switzerland. This was the first time I was so far away from home but had all my money to myself and was more independent. Now if I went to a dance, girls danced with me and even wanted to marry me. This was something new and there happened to be a girl which I liked who introduced me to her mother, a widow, which would love to find someone like me to help her with bringing home the bacon. So I phoned my parents in Holland and they said they would phone and talk to this girl’s mother, which I believe they did, however I don’t know what was said for I never saw this girl again. A couple months after that I got a note to report to an Army base in Limburg for a physical so I returned home.

Once home I told my parents that I didn’t want to go into the Army but wanted to go to Canada where my mother had a sister. At first my mother said she wanted me to join the Army because I was classed as a breadwinner and she would receive an allowance. However she would not stop me if I wanted to go to Canada. She would come over and visit her sister there. So I applied, got a visa, and departed Holland three days before I had to report for Army duties on 3 April 1958, still only eighteen years old.

I left Rotterdam, Holland on the third of April on a big boat called The Big Bear which had a large banquet room, dance hall, movie theatre, and swimming pool. My trip was subsidized by the Dutch government so slept in a large cabin with three other men. If some of these men had their lady friends over for a little bonding they would pay me to go on deck, in the bar, to have drink on them which I was happy to accommodate. Sometimes I would go to the front of the ship to look for icebergs because I did not want to us to hit one as what happened to the titanic. After eight days we arrived in Quebec City and I saw all the different color houses, so different from the grey old buildings in Holland, but felt sorry for the poor mailman who must be going color blind. Once we got through customs we boarded a trans-Canada train which took three days and nights, only stopping for an hour in various cities to drop off passengers, until we finally reached Calgary where I believe we arrived on the fifteen of April 1958. Finally I was in the Promised Land of which I had dreamed so long ago.

This year it has been fifty-five years that I’m here and it has been good. I’ve been married for over fifty years to Margaret, who was also born in Holland, and I believe this was one of the things which attracted me to her because we both believe in having strong Family ties. We now have two sons, two granddaughters, and two great-grandchildren. I still think of Holland and have a strong pull towards that country. But here in Calgary is where I belong and Canada is my country now, I want to be buried here. When I sit at home alone or with family I’m in heaven. Even when on vacation, sometimes Disneyland which I enjoy, I still long to go back to Calgary, a beautiful city with the mountains in the background. It is my Home.

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Bubbie’s & Zaida’s Blogging – Home 4

This is our final blog in our “home” series. Next week we’ll add some from a different theme. Hope you enjoy!

Happy to be Home

As you know, September 11, 2001 affected everyone including me.  This is my story.

After visiting my daughter, Arlene, and her family in Atlanta, Georgia, I was returning home to Calgary on that fateful day without any knowledge of what was in store. We left Atlanta about 8 am Eastern time. Shortly after take-off the Captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker saying that we were making an unscheduled landing in Memphis, Tennessee. He also mentioned that it was not a mechanical issue and there was no reason to worry. We landed without knowing what sad and tragic event had occurred. Only when we landed were were informed of the tragedy at the World Trade Center in New York and other places, and were told to pick up our luggage and make arrangements to get back to Atlanta as all flights were grounded.

I was fortunate enough to meet up with a lovely young woman and her children on their way to Hawaii. She was able to get hotel accommodations for herself and for me as she was an airline attendant. Many people were simply stranded. She had phoned her husband and he would be there to join them that evening and return to Atlanta the next morning by car. They included me in the return trip and so I was back at my daughter’s home the next day to remain for another week.

Arlene and my granddaughter welcomed me home with open arms, lots of hugs and kisses, so happy that I was safe.


The National 9/11 Memorial in New York City

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Bubbies and Zaida’s Blogging – Home 3

Where I Lived
  Aron Eichler

When you say home, I think of my family.  There were 5 children in our family.  One born in Russia, the others in Poland. Only 2 left.

Over the years we have traveled to many countries during the prewar years. We were not overly wealthy but my parents had to move in order to support us, it was very difficult to support a family with 5 children.

Sometimes we had to be farmed out, to live with other family members in their home. It was normal for a family to be broken up until we became of age: 12 for a girl 13 for a boy, when he has a bar mitzvah.

When the war broke out, my brother and I were on one side of the river that belonged the Russian authorities, my parents on the other side with the German authorities.

We stayed with my Uncle, he had animals, it was nice.  It was not home but it was where I lived.

I lost touch with my parents, when the Russian Government  gave them opportunity to go to Russia. I stayed with my brother, he was 8, I was 10, living on my Uncle’s farm.

One day they arrested him for being a spy, he didn’t even know what the word spy meant, but they found an excuse to take us away.

We were put in an Arbeit Camp, a concentration camp.  It was not home but it was where I lived.

I shined maybe 2000 German boots. There were a few that would sometimes leave me candy or chocolate. For a ten year old boy this was important. They would eat their chocolate and drop the wrapper with a bit for me. Not all of them, of course, but a few.

One day my uncle told me to put on two pairs of pants, a short and long pair. I asked why, but he wouldn’t give me an answer.

There was an escape planned in the camp. He woke us up early.

There was an electric wire around the camp and the first few people died on the wire but their weight allowed us to pass over the wire to freedom.

Hundreds of people escaped.

My Uncle moved us through the wire ahead of him.

Then he was shot.

“Loyft, kinder, Loyft” Partisan Hideout in the Rudniky forest

We ran into the woods, we ate berries, grass, sometimes we found a tree that found apples in orchards.  It was not home but it was where I lived.

We lived there for a long time.

One day we heard “HALT!”

We froze.

When I looked up I saw that the uniforms they were wearing were not of the German soldiers but of the resistance, the underground movement.

They gave me a new home.

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Bubbies & Zaidas Blogging – Home 2

What is Home?
Bob Petersen

Home:  What does home mean to this surfing senior?
“Home” on the iPad takes me back to different icons or applications.
Google Street View let me see my childhood “home” in Kingston Ontario.
Now, I looked up Google Earth Satellite view of my home but the street address was obscured by a cloud.
(Am I living in “the cloud”?)
Then I Googled my  name a found an interview I had given regarding WWII
Is the internet my new home?

house-homeWhat is Important?

“Home” does not mean the same thing for everyone.  For some people it is just bricks and mortar, for others it is a show place where they can display their wealth or their good taste.  For me it is and was always where I was with my parents and as I grew up with my husband and daughters.
My father always said that anything in life that is replaceable is not important.
I have lived in seven different countries one of which was Israel, where I met my beloved husband, who was from South Africa.
When our daughter was 15 months old my husband decided we should move to South Africa, which meant, for me, leaving my entire family. Parent’s, brother, grandmother & seven uncles and aunts and cousins.
After some years we were able  to go back to Israel very often and each time as I got onto the tarmac at Lod, I had this over powering feeling:   THIS IS HOME.

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Bubbies & Zaidas Blogging – Home

We hope you had a wonderful break. As you probably noticed, we took a break as well. We’re back now with a new theme: Home.
Home is a complex concept and that changes with life experience. This topic was inspired by searching out places and homes we had lived in via Google Maps Street View. You can imagine how powerful it was to see a home we  had not lived in for perhaps 40 years and re-experience a place they thought they would never see again. We’ll be posting some writings by our bloggers about home over the next little while. Our first one is by Amalia.


By: Amalia

 When I was 17 I never thought I would live so long.  87 years old.

My childhood, with my parents before the war, was a life without worries.  A naive state, perhaps. I was with my parents and I felt safe & secure. I have always thought of this feeling as the feeling of what home is: safe and secure.

When there was war, then home changed.  In a camp, separated from my parents.

It was not home anymore, it was horror.

We would dream in the camps, of what it would be like when we got out. What would we want. Most of us just wanted to eat. A simple life, safe and secure. What I know now is that I would never feel like I had a home the same way again.

We fled from the camp, as the front approached.  The commanders and guards fled before us leaving they left their rifles behind so we took the opportunity to flee. We were afraid we would be taken back to the camp so we hid out, reunited with my parents. They feared for my safety being 17 years old so they sent me with other Jewish children, to an Orphanage in Romania.

After a few months we were reunited and we had to look for another home. I don’t think any of us ever felt safe and secure after all that we had seen.

My parents were very sick, not very old, but sick because of life in the camps. Home was not the same. There were more worries I had to care for them, though they wanted  desperately to care for me.

Then again a change, when I was married we moved to Israel and then to Canada.

I think if there had been no war we would have stayed put, had a home but the war made us like nomads, searching for home.

Now I live alone, it is very hard to live alone at my age. It is hard not to have someone to talk to. I put the TV on to hear a voice. The first month after my husband passed I would want to tell him something, and then I would realize he was gone.

BUT I want to be here, I don’t want to leave my home. It is my source of independence. With the love and support of my friends & family, I can stay here.

How I see home has change from when I was young, knowing home as a place of security to waking up to the fact that life is hard and not safe.  Life taught me that we are not safe but we need capacities to be independent.  I now understand that having the skills to meet the challenges life brings is security.

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Bubbies & Zaidas Blogging – Friendship 2

Today we have another post about friendship! This time it is written by Amalia. Here is a bit about Amalia when asked to tell us about herself:

“I like challenges. I have lived over 87 years on this planet. I have seen many things and had many challenges.  Not many of them easy.  I always want to be active physically and mentally as I believe it is important to continue to do this for your whole life.  This is what the challenge of life is. I sing, I act, I write… and now I am learning computers!”


Now that we know a little bit about Amalia, here’s a little blog post by her about the importance of friendship. I can guarantee you’ll learn a thing or two from her. She has been on this planet for a long time so she knows a thing or two…

Beautiful Things

Over the years I have learned that friendship is one of the most beautiful things in life. Without friends life would be dull and sad.

When you have happy moments in your life, you want to live them with friends.

When you are unhappy, just to be able to have someone to listen, who helps you sort it out – what can be better than that?

Being a friend for someone who is having a difficult time, to lend them courage, is a great blessing. That courage is repaid many times over.

Life wouldn’t have the same meaning without friends.

Trying to understand each other is very important in friendships. The gift of learning from each other is the best gift life can give us.

Of course, it is very fortunate if you have friends that have the same ideals, but even if you find people who think differently from you, you will learn from them too.

This requires not being hasty to jump to judgement. Take your time and learn what it is and how it is people think. Why does this matter to them?  Should it matter to me?  These are questions I ask myself and then try to answer.

If you are young you can learn from older people, if you are old you can learn from younger people.

Friends should be a stew for learning, different ingredients and different tastes but all together a rich experience.


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Bubbies & Zaidas Blogging – Friendship

Today’s post is about friendship. As our seniors have lived many years, so to have they encountered many friends along the way. Margot is our blogger today and she tells us about a unique friendship she encountered many years ago! This has to be one of the most incredible stories ever!

Unikely Friendships
by Margot

“Stranger than fiction” comes to mind when I think of my dear friend Merryl.  About 51 years ago my family (husband and 2 daughters) moved into a small apartment in Johannesburg. It was very comfortable and had an imitation fireplace with built in cupboards on either side. On opening one of the cupboards I found a Scrabble game in excellent condition.   This game remained with me through all our moves and finally came with us to Canada, 21 years after being found.

After we were in Calgary for about a year, we were invited for Sunday tea by a friend and it was there that I met Merryl and her family who had newly arrived from Johannesburg.  Of course the conversation immediately was “Where did you life in Joburg?” and “Did you know so and so?”

It turned out that my husband and I had rented the apartment when Merryl had vacated it and accidentally forgot her scrabble game which I, of course, with much laughter, refused to return to her.  We have since enjoyed a wonderful friendship and are convinced of the magical properties of our scrabble board, a game we play often.


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